


every time you fall (follow me)

by restless5oul



Series: yesterday we were just children [9]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, GP2 Series RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, Brother Feels, Dysfunctional Family, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Happy Sad Feels, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: home is no longer a place for pierre, but rather a person.





	every time you fall (follow me)

“Can’t we just talk about it?”

Pierre was beginning to regret choosing Mitch as his patrol partner. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by his side, there was no one he worked with whom he trusted more, and no one else who would tell him it straight. But sometimes he made him wish that he was stuck training the new recruits, as tiresome as he found that.

“No we can’t,” Pierre snapped, picking up his pace so he couldn’t see Mitch’s earnest face anymore, absentmindedly running his hand across his torso where he could almost feel the puckering of his skin where the stitches had sewn together the long length of torn open skin. It wouldn’t be long until he would have them removed, but sometimes he still felt a deep ache from the fresh wound.

He knew what Mitch wanted to talk about, and he knew why. Pierre could appreciate that Mitch deserved an explanation, especially given that he had not just stupidly endangered his own life, but his as well. But he couldn’t even admit to Stoff what had been running through his mind in that moment, he could scarcely admit it to himself. If he could put off dealing with what was so clearly wrong with him for as long as possible, then he would do just that. Throwing himself into his gruelling daily routine was a way to put anything but the task at hand from his mind. But not when Mitch would insist on dragging it up every time they were alone.

“I’m just worried about you,” Mitch said quietly, hurrying so he could fall into step beside Pierre again. The gentle honesty broke Pierre’s resolve far more than his stubborn badgering. Sometimes it was easier to forget that everyone he loved was going through the same thing that he was, that they hurt just as badly as he did. Mitch was trapped on the other side of the world to his family, he was as alone as Pierre felt, and he was selfishly pushing him away. 

“I know,” Pierre’s voice was far softer than it had been before as he stopped to look at his friend, “I’m sorry. 

“Don’t be,” Mitch shook his head with a small smile, reaching out to pat Pierre on the arm.

“I just can’t explain,” Pierre said, though it was partly a lie, he hoped it would do for now.

“It’s alright. You just have to be okay with me annoying you forever,” Mitch shrugged, his words making Pierre smile, and he seemed like he was going to say something else but his attention was pulled somewhere else, his head snapping right. Pierre followed his gaze and saw he was looking at the gates, just a little way along the perimeter. Though they were usually shut tight, protecting those inside from the horrors that lurked beyond, they were being slowly pulled open. That only happened if there was a new arrival asking to be let in. Their route around the perimeter of the camp took them in that direction, and Mitch was clearly curious to get a look at their newcomers.

Everyone always hoped the same thing when someone else turned up at the gate. Pierre could see it in Mitch’s eyes at that moment. It was never someone they knew or recognised. Time and time again Pierre saw people get their hopes up, only to witness the crushing disappointment on their faces when inevitably it was just another stranger. Pierre found it was better not to hope at all.

Still he followed Mitch, who had picked up his pace, his heavy boots thumping against the mud as he hurried towards the gates. Pierre couldn’t make out the newcomers through the crowd of people who had gathered, but as he got closer he could see five or even six people stood there, and there seemed to be some kind of argument brewing. 

Pierre knew what the guards could be like, he had trained most of them. The authority went to their heads and far too often they were too aggressive with those who didn’t deserve it. Rolling his eyes, he hoped he wouldn’t have to step in. Though the shouts he heard as Mitch and him began to push their way through the crowd indicated he would.

“What’s going on?” he grabbed the nearest guard to him by the shoulder, who was standing back looking wary, as his fellow soldiers nearer the newcomers barked orders, pushing one of them to the ground.

The soldier just shrugged, and Pierre huffed impatiently, turning his attention to the people stood in the middle of the circle.

Two young men, so young that he could hardly call them adults stood in the middle, the shorter of the two of them was propping the other up – who looked on the verge of passing out – all while managing to scream at the guards in what seemed to be rapid German. He was gesticulating at two figures who were on the ground, crouching unmoving, clearly for the fear that the two guards who had their guns trained on the backs of their heads would pull the trigger. Pierre was about to look away when he saw one of them turn to glance at the other, the dark hair falling away from his face, just so he caught of glimpse of his profile. And Pierre felt his heart stop.

All of the air was sucked from his lungs, and he blindly reached for Mitch, scarcely able to grasp onto his upper arm to steady himself as his hands trembled. Everything else around him seemed to fade out of focus. He couldn’t hear the guards ordering the people around anymore, or the short blonde boy yelling for medical attention for his friend, Mitch’s quiet voice barely reached his ears as he whispered;

“Ace,” in a tone filled with disbelief and joy.

He couldn’t even see the heads turn towards him as he took a few stumbling steps forward, somehow finding his voice so he could shout for the guards with their guns raised to stop what they were doing. The command came easily to him, almost subconsciously now, but his eyes were fixed solely on the figure kneeling before him.

Part of him doubted this was even happening. He was sure this was some cruel dream he was going to wake up from at any moment, a twisted version of the nightmares he had daily. Or maybe the boy in front of him would look up and he would realise he was mistaken. After all, how could it make any sense? How could he be there? It was impossible. But Pierre couldn’t stop the aching in his heart that wished it to be real with everything he had left.

“That’s my brother,” his words seemed to hang in the air, in the silence that now surrounded them, and time had never moved so slowly in between the moment he spoke, and the moment when the boy in front of him looked up.

It _was_ Charles.

Somehow, he didn’t know how, and he didn’t care how, he was there, alive, breathing, living, right in front of him. He looked older than he remembered; his expression harsher, his eyes colder, his hair was too long and there were faint traces of stubble lined his jaw and upper lip. But when their eyes met, his face changed and he became the the baby brother Pierre had thought he had lost.

He felt himself gasp, so violently that his chest burned, the intake of air and rush of blood to his brain making his head spin. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from him, like he might disappear if he did.

“Pear,” Charles breathed, the widest smile breaking out across his face, and the use of his childhood nickname for his brother erased any doubt from Pierre’s mind.

He dropped to his knees, not caring about the mud that was seeping through his trouser, or the scene he was making. All he wanted to do was bundle up his little brother into his arms and never let go. He could feel Charles’ arms around his back, and his rapid heartbeat against his own chest, and it was as though Pierre couldn’t feel enough of him to believe that he was really here.

“Oh my god,” was all he could say, over and over again, his words tangled up in the sob that escaped from his mouth. Charles was saying something, but he could scarcely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears.

Pierre pulled back, wanting to see his face, to see that it was really him – like part of his brain still didn’t believe it entirely. He cupped his face in his hands, not caring about the dirt on his cheeks and chin that was getting all over his fingers. He only cared about the familiar way his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the way they had for nineteen years, and the laugh that burst forward from his mouth as he watched Pierre’s awestruck face.

“I thought you were dead,” his voice cracked as he spoke, running his thumb along his brother’s cheekbone, the reality of it hitting him finally. Pierre didn’t think he’d ever cried from happiness, but the tears that slipped down the side of his face were only born of sheer relief, “God I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here,” Charles said, his own eyes shining as he gripped his shoulders harder as though to prove that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Pierre just pressed his lips to his forehead, ignoring the taste of sweat and dirt, and let Charles press his face into chest. After so much time believing he had failed to take care of him, it meant more than he could say to be the big brother he had meant to be.

Finally, Charles pulled back, a sudden expression of worry on his face.

“My friend…” he looked up at the two blond boys, who were watching the reunion with unreadable expressions on their faces, the smaller one still struggling to keep the other on his feet. They, along with almost everyone else, had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene play out in front of them. And their faces said that they knew the ought to look away, but couldn’t quite.

The taller boy, whose face was deathly white, staggered slightly, nearly crushing the boy next to him. The boy who had been crouched next to Charles got up to take the boy's other arm, holding him up. Pierre watched as Charles scrambled to his feet, placing his hands on either side of the injured boy’s face, with a tender care he found surprising considering that Pierre didn’t recognise these people he was travelling with.

Getting to his feet, not even bothering to wipe the mud from his trousers, Pierre was about to shout for them to be escorted to the medical tent to be checked out before they were assessed. Protocol be damned. He knew he should send for one of his superiors, but this was Charles for Christ’s sake, and the boy he was holding up looked like he needed help immediately.

He was about to say all that when he turned to see that Mitch was staring up at one of the other people in Charles’ group, an expression on his face like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hit the person he was looking at or kiss him. It was only then that Pierre realised who it was. 

“Alex!” he exclaimed, and both he and Mitch turned to look at him, as well as the man stood next to Alex, whom Pierre recognised as Ollie, one of Alex’s friends from university. He barely knew him, but he didn’t hesitate in bundling him into a tight hug after he extracted himself from Alex’s embrace.

“Pierre, Jüri he was shot, the bullet is still in there, he needs to be taken to get it removed, the wound is infected,” Alex began to speak rapidly, jumping into that focused frame of mind that he often inhabited when there was a problem to be solved. Pierre could only assume that Jüri was the boy being held up by his friends, whom Charles was talking to him in a hushed tone, trying to get him to stay conscious. 

As quickly as they dared, Pierre and Mitch led the six of them into the makeshift hospital, placing Jüri down on the nearest empty bad. He didn’t know the boy, but he couldn’t have been much older than Charles, and seeing the way he writhed and moaned as they lay him down on the bed made his heart ache. 

“Mark! Mark!” Mitch was yelling, trying to get his godfather’s attention. The Australian came hurrying over and Pierre let Alex and Ollie explain what had happened. Two other nurses joined their group shortly after, insisting that the remaining five needed checking out, and then assessed just like the rest of them had been.

Alex and Ollie went willingly to the nurse’s station that had been set up on the other side of the hangar, followed closely by Mitch, but the nurses were having a harder time getting Charles and the other two boys to leave Jüri’s side.

“Please, I really must insist,” the nurse said in the stern voice they all seemed to adopt when anyone was being difficult.

“Look I’m not-!” one of the boys started to shout, and Pierre cut across him quickly.

“I’ll send them over,” he said to the nurse, and he saw her glance down at the badge on his chest before finally relenting, nodding to go help her colleague.

The shouting boy shot Pierre a grateful smile, but his dark eyes were quickly back on his friend as he craned his neck to get a look over Mark’s shoulder at the damage. From the foot of the bed Pierre could see, now that his shirt had been cut away, that there was a wound on his shoulder that was definitely infected, the skin discoloured and mottled.

“I’m going to have to get the bullet out straight away,” Mark was telling Jüri, who didn’t seem to be fully able to hear or understand him, but he nodded anyway.

“Without anaesthetic?” the boy who had smiled at Pierre was now kneeling on the other side of the bed, clutching Jüri’s hand tight, looking more worried than the boy who was about to be operated on.

“We don’t have any I can give him. The septicaemia has already begun to set in and there’s no point giving him any antibiotics until the bullet is removed. He’ll be okay, it isn’t implanted very deep and it isn’t plugging any major arteries. It’ll hurt, but it’ll help,” Mark explained before reaching out and giving the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder, convincing him in a way that only he seemed able to manage.

But no amount of reassurance could make the process any less painful. Pierre found himself wanting to cover his ears at the sound of his cries, so gut wrenching that they made him cringe. He watched as Jüri fought to stay calm, to control his breathing, the effort making him perspire until strands of his hair were plastered to his forehead and the boy holding his hand had to wipe them away as he tried his best to comfort him. The pained expression on Charles’ face as he watched made the whole thing so much worse, and Pierre pretended not to notice when he reached out to clasp the hand of the shorter boy stood next to him, their grip so tight that both of their knuckles turned white.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mark pulled away, a sizeable bullet clutched between the forceps, dripping with blood. Jüri was still whimpering when a nurse appeared with the antibiotics, and Mark eventually gave him a sedative that seemed similar to the one he had administered to Pierre all those months ago. 

“He’ll be alright. We’ll have to keep him in here though,” Mark told the four people stood around the bed.

Pierre knew that someone ought to be told about the recent arrival, and it should have been him to do it. But every part of him didn’t want to leave Charles’ side. But he had seen the kind of interrogation they could put people through - especially those who weren't English, he had first hand experience of that after all - and he knew that he would have to intercede on their behalf if they were to go easy on them.

“I need to go,” Pierre told his brother, who turned towards him with an expression that plainly said that he wanted to protest, “I’ll be back later. I promise.” 

Charles just nodded, finally letting go of the hand of the boy next to him, so he could move to give his brother one last hug, sighing as Pierre pressed his lips to the top of his head again.

“I love you,” was all he said. And as Pierre turned to leave, he was struck by how different Charles seemed to him. While he had always been kinder and quieter than he was, that shy awkwardness had been replaced by a seriousness that hadn’t been there before, and a sense of responsibility that he had never seen in his eyes. He could only wonder what he saw when he looked at Pierre now.

Pierre left the tent with every intention of going to tell the appropriate people about what had happened. But when he caught sight of one of the pages hovering outside the tent, leaning against a stack of crates, reading a crumpled up piece of paper that he clutched in his hand, he changed his mind. 

“Callum!” he called, catching his attention, making the boy jump a little as he stuffed the paper into his back pocket. Pierre rattled of all the relevant information he needed to relay, trusting that Callum would remember it all – he hadn’t been given his job for nothing after all. He nodded once before jogging off in the opposite direction to Pierre.

Instead of heading towards the secure buildings that housed people far more important than himself. Pierre began to walk towards the group of tents that the camp’s engineers worked in. The minute he had seen Charles that had only been one person he had wanted to tell. 


End file.
